The interior of the Crimson Veil matched the squalor of its surroundings. The air was thick with the stench of cheap ale, unwashed bodies, and stale smoke from the poorly ventilated hearth. A low ceiling, marred by water stains and cobwebs, loomed over the cramped common room. The tables and chairs were mismatched and rickety, many showing signs of crude repairs.

As we entered, the music stopped, and I suddenly perked up, as though awakening from a trance. The raucous laughter and conversations faltered. Hardened faces turned our way, eyes narrowing with suspicion and hostility. It seemed this place was where the dregs of society gathered, those who had nothing left to lose. They were no strangers to violence and hardship. They lived on the fringes, scraping by in the shadows of Ebonheart’s underworld. Even the presence of blackguards was met with defiance rather than fear.

However, they were smart enough to keep their distance. While their glares followed us, they parted warily as we moved through the room. The tension was palpable, like a bowstring ready to snap. But no one dared to make a move against us.

I knew places like these well. Survival meant being tougher than the next person and weakness was exploited without mercy. The blackguards might be feared in the rest of the city, but here, we were just another threat to be assessed and dealt with.

The weight of my kukris at my hip was a comforting reminder of my own readiness. In a place like this, I knew I couldn’t afford to let my guard down for a moment. Any sign of hesitation could be an invitation for trouble.

As we moved deeper into the tavern, a rough-looking patron with a sneer on his face stepped into our path. He reeked of stale ale. “Hey, blind man,” he jeered at Corvus. “Take your pet bird elsewhere!”

I narrowed my eyes at the man’s insolence and my hand instinctively gripped the hilt of one of my kukris. But before I could draw the weapon, Corvus placed a hand over mine, stopping me. He gave a subtle shake of his head, his expression remaining impassive. Frowning, I reluctantly released my grip on the weapon. Corvus continued through the tavern without another word, ignoring the man’s taunts.

The man simply laughed, and the rest of the patrons joined in with their jeers and insults. My fury at the disrespect burned hot, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, knowing that Corvus’s approach was the wisest course of action.

Corvus walked to a secluded spot in the corner of the tavern, where he stood like a silent sentry. Left to my own devices, I took the opportunity to assess the rest of the tavern. My gaze swept over the patrons. Some were huddled in groups, their conversations low and furtive, while others sat alone, nursing their drinks with grim determination.

In one corner, a group of rough-looking men were playing a game of dice, their curses and laughter ringing out above the general din. Nearby, a promiscuous woman in a low-cut dress was draped over a drunken merchant, her hands deftly relieving him of his purse even as she smiled into his bleary eyes.

A lone, cloaked figure was seated at the bar, a hood obscuring their features. My roguish instincts immediately began analyzing the stranger’s body language and demeanor. The subtle tension in their shoulders and a coiled readiness in their posture screamed danger. This was someone accustomed to violence, someone who expected trouble and was prepared to meet it head-on.

A burly half-orc approached the figure, his rigid posture displaying aggression. The hooded stranger’s gloved hand drifted casually towards the hilt of a concealed weapon. The movement was so smooth and practiced that it would have been invisible to an untrained eye.

Words were exchanged, the half-orc’s voice rising in volume and belligerence. I couldn’t make out the specifics over the tavern’s din, but the tone was sharp and unmistakably hostile. Suddenly, the hooded figure moved with blinding speed, a flash of steel glinting in the dim light. One moment the knife was in their hand, the next it was buried to the hilt in the half-orc’s throat.

The half-orc staggered back, clutching at his neck, blood spurting between his fingers. He collapsed to the floor, twitching weakly, as the hooded figure calmly returned to their drink as if nothing had happened. The casual brutality of the act sent a chill down my spine.

Despite the cold-blooded killing, I realized with a sinking feeling that this dangerous individual was not Ramon. The build and movements didn’t match the description. Furthermore, the hooded stranger didn’t exude an aura of shadow magic. This was just another violent encounter in a tavern full of shady characters, unrelated to my true purpose here.

The other patrons barely reacted to the violence, as they stepped over the dying half-orc’s body with indifference.

Frustration and grim resignation tugged at my mind as I watched the hooded figure sip their drink, ignoring the corpse cooling on the floor nearby. The callous disregard for life only reinforced the dark nature of the world I now inhabited.

With an effort, I reined in my emotions and focused on my mission. I tore my gaze away from the grisly scene and drew my attention to the front of the tavern, where a raised platform stood. Seated upon it was a woman who had been watching me ever since I entered the tavern.

She was strikingly beautiful, with golden skin that glistened, and long, braided, chestnut hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her emerald green eyes were framed by thick lashes, and her full lips were curved in a knowing smile. A pair of large, gold hoop earrings glinted in the tavern’s dull light. Her elegant, yet revealing outfit clung to her body, accentuating every curve. She wore a front-lacing black bodice over a white chemise top, which had a plunging neckline that revealed her ample cleavage. Her large breasts strained against the confines of her bodice, soft flesh threatening to spill out with every breath she took.

The bodice hugged her narrow waist before flaring out into a crimson skirt that was short in front, showing off her long, shapely legs encased in knee-high black-leather boots, while the back of the skirt cascaded down in an elegant train.

Small pouches were attached to a wide leather belt that was cinched around her hips. Nestled between her breasts was a small golden pendant in the shape of a musical note with its head replaced with an image of a human skull.

Her presence spoke of daring and danger, a look that said she was a woman who could handle herself in any situation. It was a look that I found incredibly alluring, and I felt a stirring within me, a longing that I had not experienced in quite some time. Even in my previous life, my encounters with women had been fleeting, mere physical indulgences devoid of any deeper connection.

But here, in this moment, I found myself captivated by this strange woman’s beauty, drawn in by the depth of emotion I saw in her eyes. I fantasized what it would be like to run my hands over those curves, to feel the weight of her breasts in my palms as I crushed her body against mine.

But even as the thought crossed my mind, I forced myself to rein in my emotions. I was here on a mission, and I couldn’t afford to be distracted by a pretty face and a tempting body, no matter how much my baser instincts might yearn for it. Malachai had instilled in me the importance of remaining focused, of not allowing anything to sway me from my path.

And yet, as our gazes met across the crowded tavern, I found it difficult to tear my eyes away from her. There was a hint of something in her eyes—recognition, perhaps, or a challenge. It called to me, drawing out a primal hunger that I had to force myself to suppress.

Then she quickly averted her gaze, moved her slender fingers over the strings of her lyre, and began to play a dark and enchanting melody. The notes wove through the air like a siren’s song, weaving a spell that seemed to momentarily elevate the tavern from its seedy surroundings. As she played, I noticed a plate at her feet nearly overflowing with coins, a testament to her skill and the captivating effect she had on her audience.

I stood transfixed by her performance. The music was a balm to my troubled soul, a reminder of the fragments of beauty that still existed in this dark and dangerous world.

But I knew that I couldn’t allow myself to be swayed by sentiment. I had a purpose, a destiny to fulfill, and I could not let anything stand in my way.

I must focus… I told myself, gritting my teeth in frustration. With a heavy heart, I willed myself to turn away from the enchanting woman and made my way back to Corvus, who was still standing alone in his shadowy corner. As I approached him, I could sense his disapproval.

“Your heartbeat betrays you,” Corvus said. “I can hear it quicken, I can hear the slight hitch in your breath whenever you look at her. Such obvious displays of weakness are beneath you, brother.”

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I swallowed a lump in my throat. Even now, with my back turned to her, I could feel her presence like a physical pull. “Ramon isn’t here,” I reported, trying to keep my voice professional.

“And yet your attention seems more focused on other... distractions.” Corvus’s tone carried a hint of disdain. “Remember your training, Caelum. Desire is a chain that binds us to our weaker nature.”

I gritted my teeth, annoyed at both his rebuke and my own lack of control. And yet, even as I acknowledged Corvus’s words of wisdom, part of me silently wondered if there was a way to find balance in desire, to harness it rather than be ruled by it. It was a dangerous notion, one I knew better than to voice aloud, especially to Corvus.

“This place disgusts me,” I said, changing the subject. “The corruption, the violence, the complete disregard for order.”

“This is what Ebonheart has become,” Corvus replied. “We cannot change this city’s destiny. Some places are meant to fall into darkness.”

“I refuse to accept that. I’ve seen this played out before, watched another city rot from within while those with power did nothing to stop it.”

Before Corvus could respond, a commotion erupted near the stage. Two drunk patrons had approached the bard, their intentions clear in their leering faces and groping hands.

“C’mon, li’l birdie,” one slurred, reaching for her. “Sing us some’n more upbeat. And maybe give me a nice juicy kiss to go with it.”

The other man laughed and grabbed on her arm. “Yeah, don’t be shy now. We’ve been generous with our coins.”

My hand instinctively went to my weapons, fury building in my chest. But Corvus’s hand shot out again, gripping my arm with surprising strength.

“The mission,” he reminded me firmly. “She is not your concern.”

My jaw clenched. I was torn between my duty and my desire to protect the woman.

The crow on Corvus’s shoulder cawed mockingly at me, as if sensing my inner turmoil. Then Corvus lifted his head in thought. “I sense that she is stronger than she appears.”

As if on cue, the bard moved with fluent speed and agility. In a flash, two, small hidden blades attached on undersides of her wrists extended. She stabbed one man in the neck and the other in the groin. Both men groaned and collapsed as they bled out pools of blood on the stage. Afterwards, the bard calmly collected her plate of coins and made her way towards the exit.

The crowd’s reaction was muted, almost bored. This was clearly a common occurrence in the Crimson Veil, a place where violence and death were as much a part of the atmosphere as the stale ale and flickering torchlight. The patrons barely spared a glance for the groaning men on the stage and went back to their drinks and conversations.

I sneered at the sight of it all. This city was a cesspit of depravity and apathy, where even the most brutal acts were met with little more than a shrug.

As I watched the woman disappear through the tavern door, her head held high and her step unhurried, I felt a twinge of sadness for her, and for the life she must lead in a place like this. She was a survivor, that much was clear, but at what cost to her soul?

Corvus’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, his tone grim. “You see now why our mission is so important, brother. This city is lost, its people beyond redemption. We cannot afford to be swayed by sentiment or desire.”

I nodded, my jaw tight with suppressed emotion. “I know, Corvus. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He sighed, a sound heavy with understanding and shared sorrow. “No, it doesn’t. But we must do what is necessary, no matter the cost to ourselves. That is the burden we bear as blackguards and servants of Valic.”

Burdens, indeed… I flared my nostrils in frustration. I had only been in this city for about an hour, and I was already facing an internal struggle with myself—with my past and present self. “Let’s try the aurorium next,” I suggested, trying to change the subject. “The clerics may provide some additional information about Ramon’s whereabouts.”

Corvus nodded in agreement, and we left the Crimson Veil, leaving behind its chaos and debauchery. The stench of the air and grimy streets was a welcoming relief compared to the tavern’s grim atmosphere.

“The aurorium is located underground in the eastern district,” Corvus said.

I walked alongside him as we navigated there. My senses were on high alert as I mulled over my thoughts. Ramon could be anywhere. He could be hiding in plain sight, or maybe somewhere deep underground, surrounded by his own kind. Ebonheart felt like a festering wound, and Ramon was just another symptom of its decay.

As we walked, a familiar melody drifted through the air, weaving its way into the din of the city’s night. It was a haunting tune, both beautiful and unsettling, and it tugged at something deep within me.

“That music... it’s—”

“Ignore it,” Corvus said promptly, his voice low.

But I couldn’t help myself. The music beckoned me, its alluring rhythm pulsing through my veins. A familiar voice began to sing. I strained to hear the lyrics.

“From shadows they come, two warriors of night,

Swords gleaming with purpose, hearts burning so bright.

Lift the shroud of corruption, cleansing this land,

With righteous fury, together they stand.”

The words struck me like a bolt of lightning. They were speaking of me and Corvus, and our mission. The corner of my mouth twitched upward into a slight smile. “Corvus, she’s singing about us.”

His face turned towards the direction of the music. Then his jaw clenched. “Do not be swayed,” he warned. “Some bards use their song to trick and distract. We do not know where her loyalties lie.”

But I couldn’t help it, as I was already lost in the music. My feet moved towards the source. “It sounds like she may know something about our mission,” I said in an absent tone. “I must find out.”

Corvus grunted, and the crows perched on his shoulders squawked their displeasure. “This is a waste of time.”

“Is it? Can you or your birds sense her motives?”

He fell silent for a moment, then scowled. “I wouldn’t hold it past her to be an expert at hiding her deceit.”

My smile twisted into a slight smirk. The fact that he dodged my question only answered my own. I left him to his thoughts and continued following the music. The melody led me to a dry, cracked fountain, its stone basin choked with weeds, rocks, and debris. Leaning against the fountain, her back to me, was the woman from the tavern.

Her eyes were closed as she strummed her ornate golden lyre with skilled fingers. Her voice was rich and soulful, each note ringing out with crystal clarity. My eyes roamed over her full lips, then drifted down to the swell of her breasts beneath her bodice. I watched the way she plucked the strings of her instrument, and imagined what those nimble fingers would feel like on my skin.

As the last notes of her song faded away, she opened her eyes and locked her gaze with mine. A slow smile spread across her face, as if she had been expecting us. She dipped her head into a respectful bow.

“At long last, the warriors of shadow have finally come,” she spoke in a soft, honeyed tone.

Corvus stepped forward, his blindfolded face oriented precisely towards her. “You have been waiting for us?” His voice carried clear suspicion.

The woman’s smile didn’t waver. “I have been waiting for someone strong enough to challenge the corruption that plagues this city.” She turned her attention to me. “My name is Evangeline, and I’ve been singing songs of hope and rebellion for longer than I care to remember.”

“Songs can’t change anything,” Corvus scoffed.

“Perhaps not alone,” Evangeline agreed, “but they can keep hope alive until the right people arrive.” She took a step closer to me, her green eyes intense. “And now you’re here.”

The warmth of her closeness played with my better judgement. In spite of all my training and Corvus’s obvious disapproval, I still felt drawn to her. Gritting my teeth, I tried to will those thoughts of desire aside and focus on her concern. “What do you want from us?”

She lowered her voice. “I want… to help.” She glanced around the empty square. “I have an apartment in the central district where we can speak freely.”

“This could be a trap,” Corvus warned me, his voice low.

Evangeline’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “I understand your concern.” She lifted her lyre, running her fingers along its golden surface. “This instrument is more than just a musical tool—it’s the source of my power. I’ll entrust it to you as a gesture of good faith.” She held the lyre out to me. “Without this, I’m powerless.”

I hesitated, sensing there was more to this offer than simple collateral. As I was about to take the instrument, Corvus placed his hand firmly on my arm.

“Powerless, yes, but not defenseless,” Corvus said to her. “I heard every detail of what you did to those two men in the tavern.”

She glanced at Corvus. “Of course. I’m not foolish enough to enter the Crimson Veil unarmed. Just as I’m also not foolish enough to test two blackguards.”

Corvus remained silent for a long moment, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something only he could hear. Finally, his hand slid off my arm and he said to me, “I sense no immediate deception in her words. But that doesn’t mean we should trust her.”

I took the lyre, feeling its weight in my hands. Its smooth golden surface was warm to the touch, and I could sense a subtle energy emanating from it. Such beautiful craftsmanship, I admired, tracing my fingers over the intricate designs carved into it. I didn’t expect anything less from a beautiful woman like her.

She was dangerous—that much was clear from how efficiently she had dispatched those men in the tavern. Yet there was something about her that called to the darkness within me. Perhaps it was the way she had survived in this cesspit of a city without losing her edge, or how she wielded both beauty and deadly skill with equal measure.

I could use someone like her. While I understood Corvus’s reluctance, if Evangeline truly had information about our mission, she could be a valuable asset. “Very well,” I said at last. “Lead on.” I gestured for her to walk ahead of us, and added, “I trust you understand the significance of what it means to ally yourself with blackguards. Our path is not an easy one, but it is... absolute.” The words weren’t meant as a threat, but rather a statement of fact—an acknowledgment of the dark power I wielded and the responsibilities that came with it. Corvus seemed satisfied enough with my comment, he didn’t press the matter further.

Evangeline offered another humble bow of her head. “I assure you, my lord, what I have to share is worth your time.”

As she began walking ahead, I turned to Corvus and muttered, “If she knows anything about Ramon or the artifact, we should hear her out. Better to verify her claims now than risk missing vital information.”

Corvus gave a slight nod, though his disapproval was still evident in his stance. “As you wish. But remember your training, brother. Don’t let desire cloud your judgment.”

I gripped the lyre tighter, trying to ground myself. Yes, I desired her, but desire could also be useful when properly controlled. It could be wielded like any other weapon, turned to serve my purposes rather than rule them. I would prove it to Corvus that it was possible—and I would prove it to myself.